Monday, October 10, 2011

My Pow Wow

 I was not meant to worship God sitting behind a pew, listening to a man dressed in a robe, reading from a book. That building, with its mortar and brick, is not my church. It is not my place of solitude. It is not where I was built to go and give thanks and honor.

The drums are my home. The beats signal to me when to start my worship. They call to me and bring me to my feet. They lift my spirits and carry my soul out towards the heavens.

It is the singers that I hear. Their words preach to me the true gospel as the Great Spirit so intended it. Their melodies echo a time, long ago, that my soul still longs for.

I see the dancers, dressed in their regailia, dancing to a beat that keeps time with my heart. I feel pride, as I know they do, for our culture. Our birth rite. Pride and honor as we look at one another, knowing that the blood that runs through each of our veins is the same.

The spectators are the congregation. They sit on the bleachers, in chairs, or stand on the outside of the circle. They watch the movement. They hear the sounds. They know, as I do, that this is a sacred place.

This is my place of worship. My place of honor. My church. My Pow Wow.

Copyrite Wes Chavis 2011

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